


No Greater Reward

by Primarina (PastelBrachypelma)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Choices, Demons, Demons Are Assholes, Disturbing Themes, Eating, Food, Late at Night, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Pre-Apocalypse, let me know guys, switcheroo, there's talk of eating babies so uh, warned about that, yeah just be uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 08:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBrachypelma/pseuds/Primarina
Summary: Crowley finds out Hell has rewarded him with something all demons want to do.Except one.





	No Greater Reward

Crowley was pacing back and forth outside of the convent, waiting. For what, he wasn’t sure. Technically, his part was done, and he could be miles away by now, hopefully with Aziraphale thinking up a plan to cancel Armageddon completely. 

The night was cold and Crowley was beginning to feel it. He longed to be warm inside his car, under the blankets at home in his bed watching bad telly. Anywhere but here.

He felt the presence of Hastur beside him, and he stopped pacing, turning to raise his eyebrow. The demon of glutton looked back with pitch black, hungry eyes, smirking. Crowley didn’t like that smirk. It never meant anything good.

“Crowley.” Hastur said.

“Hastur.” Crowley inclined his head.

“It’s done, then?” Hastur asked, lighting up a cigarette with a bit of Hellfire from his palm.

“Yup,” Crowley replied, rocking on his heels impatiently. He really just wanted to get away from Hastur, away from this place. He needed to be someplace warm, someplace nice. Somewhere with Aziraphale.

“Excellent.” Hastur grinned in a rather disturbing, not very human way. Crowley shuddered just looking at it. “Are you ready for your reward?”

“Reward?” Crowley asked, tilting his head in confusion.

“Oh yes,” Hastur removed the cigarette from his mouth and blew out the smoke into the night air. “I’ve got one too, of course. The Dark Council wants this place gone and the nuns dispersed!” He laughed unkindly, though, really, is there any other way for a demon to laugh. “Wish I got your reward, though.”

Before Crowley could ask exactly what Hastur meant, one of the nuns (who were all interchangeable to Crowley due to their habits, though, he supposed, that was rather the point, wasn’t it?) opened the doors behind him and rolled out a sleeping baby into the night air. She glanced at the two demons before curtsying. “Master Crowley, Master Hastur. I came to drop off your reward, Master Crowley.” She smiled nervously, looking between the two demons as if they would kill her on the spot for looking at them wrong. Then again, Crowley supposed, her fear wasn’t unrealistic. “Enjoy your meal!” She turned from the door and headed inside.

“Enjoy my…what?” Crowley looked from Hastur to the human baby. “Oh. Oh no.”

“What’s the matter, Crowley?” Hastur came quite close to Crowley, his teeth growing strangely sharp, mucus-colored drool trailing down his chin. “It’s a human baby, just barely an hour old. Unbaptized, to avoid indigestion.” Hastur licked his lips. “It’s on every demon’s bucket list, to try a newborn baby.” He backed out of Crowley’s face, staring hungrily at the baby. “Congratulations, Crowley,” he growled, his form growing more warts and pustules the more he allowed himself to covet the child.

In an instant, Crowley stood between the makeshift cradle and Hastur, glasses removed and eyes fully serpentine, taking up all the whites in his eyes. Black scales had formed at his temples, bright red ones circling his neck, the faintest shadow of his inky black wings making him appear taller, more menacing. He hissed at Hastur. “Mine,” he asserted, baring his long, venomous fangs. “Go away, Hasssstur! Thisss morsssel is mine!” He allowed himself to look hungry, and therefore, dangerous, layers of skin falling away from his high cheekbones, from around his waist and shoulders, the illusion causing his clothes to nearly fall off of him. All the while, he bared his fangs, his tongue beginning to glisten with moisture in the low light as the ambulances and cars drove away.

Hastur chuckled, raising his arms defensively. “Right, Crowley, you’ve earned it.” The demon spit out his cigarette and dropped it onto the pavement. “I’ll let you eat in peace. I know that I have an easier time digesting when I’m not being watched.” He sauntered away, chuckling to himself.

Crowley remained intimidating until he saw Hastur disappear into the night, relaxing only after he was sure the other demon was truly gone. Now back in his more comfortable form, Crowley put his sunglasses back on and turned to look at the human baby.

It was a boy, that much was obvious. And he wasn’t…small, for being a “fresh” baby. Hastur was right; unbaptized babies were on the demon gourmand’s “must-have” foods. They were as of yet untainted by the human world, or by the blessings of baptism. Unprotected, vulnerable, needy. All things demons craved. And it was a tender meat, so he’d heard. 

Crowley made a half circle around the cradle, tongue darting out from between his lips. He hadn’t tasted human meat in centuries, and had never eaten an unbaptized child before. The baby was sleeping. It would be easy, Crowley thought, to devour him in one gulp. His snake form was easily the size of an anaconda. He could scoop up the baby in his jaws, tilt back his head, and…

Crowley swallowed, wetting his lips. Not only had he not tasted human meat in centuries, he hadn’t eaten at all since Revolutionary France. He didn’t feel so empty, so covetous, so hungry with Aziraphale around. Mostly, he suspected, because it gave him something to metaphorically chew on, as it were. The demon could feel himself salivating, and he closed his mouth, returning his tongue to its normal human form. He decided that was enough of that. 

Crowley trailed his fingers up the arm of the child, lying half-swaddled in the cradle. The skin was warm and as soft as velvet beneath his fingertips, and he thought about how maybe just one bite wouldn’t hurt…humans can live with less fingers than they’re given…! Right? It was all just extra parts, anyway. Nobody would notice…

Crowley closed his eyes, his serpentine tongue sneaking out again. He really was hungry, now that he thought about it and, well, if the world was going to end, anyway, he might as well have a decent meal for the final battle, right? His tongue tickled the skin of the baby, bringing back to him the taste of newness, of plump, juicy, milk-fed child, with traces of blood and the placenta from being in his mother’s womb. Crowley hissed, about to give in and just devour the blasted thing already when…

The baby stirred, kicking a bit, and opened his eyes, looking up at Crowley with soft, innocent blue eyes.

Crowley kicked himself, then, for even entertaining the idea of eating the child. After all, it’d done nothing except be born, hale and healthy, in a convent filled with satanic nuns who knew not to baptize him for a reason. He’d never liked the idea of eating humans, the idea that demons were some kind of “apex predator” for the human race. Besides, he could hardly imagine Aziraphale would approve, once he saw the evidence of Crowley’s big meal sitting in his corporeal stomach, and once he could feel the innocence dead and digesting there. No. No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t! Crowley may have been hungry, just a bit, but he was not like Hastur, like the other demons who bragged about nibbling on humans to make things painful and difficult for them. Being human was hard enough without all that.

The question, though, was how to get the spare baby out of here? The nuns wouldn’t take him back, and even if they did, they’d tell Hastur. And then Hastur might eat him. No, Crowley thought, correction: Hastur would absolutely eat him. He’d seen the hunger in his eyes as the Duke of Hell looked over the baby, how his mouth watered for just a taste of newborn baby. No, he couldn’t let Hastur see the baby either.

Then, Crowley saw the forgotten basket, and a stroke of not-quite-demonic genius came to him.

He snapped his fingers, miracling the baby asleep, and then scooped him up and placed him back into the basket the Antichrist had been in just moments ago. Then, he miracled himself a deception. He closed his eyes and pretended very, very hard that he’d swallowed a balloon. Before opening his eyes, since he couldn’t see his own deceptions, he felt at his stomach, finding it raised. Of course, looking down at himself, he only saw his long, lean figure, but, seeing as his hand, hovering about five inches out from his body, was touching something solid, he knew Hastur would see his deception. 

Feeling rather full of air, it was easy enough to muster up a burp, which is exactly what he did as he passed by Hastur, casually swinging the basket in his other hand. 

“How was it, Crowley?” Hastur asked, his eyes wide and his teeth hungry. “Was it as good as everyone says it is?”

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley drawled, placing a hand against his “stomach” and rubbing slowly across it, muffling a burp. “Very tasty, very filling. I feel like I could sleep through Armageddon!” He yawned to prove a point, smacking his lips. “Thank the Dark Council for me, will you? Cheers.” He tilted his sunglasses by way of an exit, listening to Hastur mumbling to himself. 

Once he’d gotten safely back into his car, he snapped his fingers, dissolving the deception. He was back to looking like his ordinary lanky self, which was a relief. It wasn’t that he disliked heavier frames, on himself or anyone else. It was more about what that heavy frame had represented…even if it was just a lie. 

If he was going to get fat, Crowley decided as he drove off, it wasn’t going to be by eating humans, unbaptized babies or otherwise. 

However, the problem was now, of course, that Crowley was properly starving. Even just thinking about all the rumors he’d heard about the delicacy of the unbaptized had made his corporeal stomach start to rumble and growl, and he was reminded yet again that he hadn’t had anything to eat for at least a century, if not more. 

Crowley groaned. But, thinking of food and what sounded good to him right now (besides the lingering temptation of the baby in the basket) made him think of Aziraphale, and his resolve strengthened. He was driving into London, back to his flat, when he came across a small cottage with a porch light on. It was a cozy little place, with a rainbow flag proudly displayed over a patch of carefully cultivated herbs and flowers. Perfect! 

Crowley got out of the car, cutting the lights, and slunk up to the door, basket in tow. He set the wicker basket on the front stoop under the porch light and miracled the baby awake. Then, he hissed, making his face as scary as possible. 

Predictably, the baby began to cry, making a dog inside the house start barking. Crowley made a break for it, darting down the steps and out of the garden, ducking into his Bentley and gunning it, miracling the sound of his car away.

He didn’t look back on that baby ever again…except maybe once, years later, when he bribed a judge into giving the young man a prize for his beautiful tropical fish.

Anyway, in the present, Crowley was starving. They needed to talk about the Antichrist, true, but he couldn’t wait until morning. He needed to eat, and fast. His stomach was growling, and his eyes were serpentine and he felt a lot more dangerous than he actually was most days.

He pulled the Bentley up to the bookshop and miracled the doors open. “Aziraphale!” He called.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale appeared from his back room, looking equal parts delighted and apprehensive. “We need to talk about the Antichrist!”

“Later, angel,” Crowley dismissed with a wave of his arm, breathing heavily to keep from hissing. “I am starving! Is there anywhere to eat? Anywhere at all?”

Aziraphale looked amused. “Why, Crowley…it’s a bit late to dine out…”

Crowley groaned, biting his lip as an ache twisted in his gut. “Look, we can talk later—you can ask me as many questions as you want, I’ll go through paces, whatever you like! I just…need to eat. Now!” He nearly roared the last part, but Aziraphale wasn’t put off by Crowley’s sour mood.

“All right, all right,” Aziraphale fussed. “Park your car properly and I’ll meet you there. It’s a 24-hour café just across the street, to the left of the post office.”

Crowley didn’t ask why Aziraphale wasn’t going to walk with him. He’d done a very stupid thing coming to his angel, as the forces of Hell and Heaven both were watching Earth closely tonight.

However, he was glad for the angel’s company, however it came. Crowley nodded, pulling back his hair breathlessly, and going out to do just that, parking his car a little up the road. Then, he got out and followed the scent of Aziraphale to the café.

~

“Order anything you like,” Aziraphale said with a smile. “My treat.”

Crowley nodded in silent thanks, perusing the pastries and various coffees. The girl behind the counter looked as exhausted as he felt right about now, but, well. There was nothing to be done except order a ham and cheese butty and two devil’s food cupcakes. Crowley was fairly certain he could eat more than that, but he usually tended to follow Aziraphale into restaurants at regular intervals, and he was almost certain they’d end up at the Ritz, one of Aziraphale’s favorite places to eat, tomorrow. Until then, this would be enough food to calm the raging storm in his belly and allow him to get some rest.

Aziraphale ordered a cocoa and a slice of carrot cake, nibbling casually on it while he watched Crowley practically inhale his food, something the demon only rarely did. “What’s gotten into you, Crowley?” He asked curiously. “You rarely eat at all, never mind demand that I take you out to dine!”

Crowley swallowed the bite of sandwich in his mouth, looking down his nose at Aziraphale so the angel could see the mischievous glint in his eyes. “The question you ought to be asking, angel,” he said with a certain cockiness, “is what hasn’t gotten into me.”

“All right, then. Tell me.” Aziraphale sipped his cocoa.

“A newborn baby.”

Crowley grinned when Aziraphale nearly spit out his cocoa. “What! You…you can’t be…?”

The demon nodded. “Dark Council wanted to reward me for dropping off the Antichrist, and, well, newborn and unbaptized babies are a delicacy in hell.”

“But…” Aziraphale looked alarmed, but then seemed to realize something and relaxed. “But you didn’t.”

“No, of course not,” Crowley flapped his hand absently, lifting up one of the cupcakes and giving the thick chocolate icing on the top a good lick, humming in delight. “Devil’s food, indeed. I’d rather eat this than fatty old humans any day.”

“Oh, good,” Aziraphale sighed in relief. “I thought for a second you…”

Crowley sighed, setting down the cupcake. “It was…a very tempting offer,” he admitted, almost shyly, his eyes on his plate. “I…I haven’t eaten since France, and, well…that’s been quite a while.”

“Yes, it has,” Aziraphale said softly, reaching across the table to place his hand over Crowley’s, making the demon look up to meet his eyes. “I’m glad you overcame temptation. That’s what matters the most to me.” Crowley smiled, and Aziraphale withdrew his hand as the demon took a generous bite into his cupcake. “What did you end up doing with the baby?”

“Left him with a queer couple outside London,” Crowley replied once he’d swallowed, shrugging. There were few things his angel hated more in this world than nasty demon habits and talking with your mouth full. “He’ll be fine.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded. “I think he will.”

Talk of Armageddon, they decided, could wait just one more day. For now, it was reward enough for them both to sit there and bask in each other’s company.

**Author's Note:**

> ...yeeeaaahhh.
> 
> Look, okay, I kept thinking about what the nuns were planning to do with the spare baby, cause the show never really addresses it, and then I thought: well...what if Crowley was supposed to eat it? So uh, yeah.
> 
> If you guys think it should have a higher rating, please let me know! I honestly wouldn't blame you if you thought it should.
> 
> I'm so sorry.


End file.
